


The Fall

by adavison



Series: Biscuits & Broomsticks [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Flying, Quidditch, Quidditch Injuries, Rare Pairings, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22581340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adavison/pseuds/adavison
Summary: Is it possible that Rolanda could have met her soulmate the day after the worst event of her life?
Relationships: Rolanda Hooch/Minerva McGonagall
Series: Biscuits & Broomsticks [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640350
Comments: 20
Kudos: 33
Collections: Hermione's Nook RarePair Soulmate Fest





	The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a part of Hermione's Nook RarePair Soulmate Fest
> 
> Trope/Prompt: You meet your soulmate the day after the worst event of your life. 
> 
> A big thank you to my beta [Drarrelie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrelie/profile), you are quite literally amazing!
> 
> And thank you to [meditationsinemergencies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meditationsinemergencies/profile) for your support and wonderful conversations. You kept me going when I was ready to throw my computer across the room.

_ 16 March 1985 _

_ “And it’s Madden with the Quaffle. Madden passes to Thompson. Thompson dives, narrowly missing a collision with the Falcon’s Beater, Jenkins. Thompson in possession who passes to Hooch. Hooch —” _

_ Rolanda felt the weight of the Quaffle as it landed in her outstretched arms and then something shoved her forward from behind her right shoulder. She barely felt the blow, just pressure. There was a bright light. Too bright. The roar of the crowd overwhelmed her. Were they chanting or screaming? Wind rushed against her face as she felt herself plummet downward. She couldn’t see; it was too bright. She couldn’t feel the broom beneath her. Just pressure, and light, and a lurch in her stomach, and then… Darkness. _

Pain — that was the first thing her brain registered. Her right shoulder felt as though it were on fire. The pain radiated down to her fingertips and up along her neck.  _ Probably nerve damage. Fuck. _

She opened her eyes slowly, painfully. How was it that eyelids could feel weighed down? When the world finally slid into focus, she saw at least two healers flitting about in their atrocious lime green robes. Whoever, in Merlin’s name, had decided that healers should wear such a shockingly awful colour should have been  _ Avadaed _ on the spot. It was not a hue that inspired feelings of peace and healing. 

The next thing Rolanda realized with a lurch was that she was not on the pitch, nor in the Healer’s Tent. This was St Mungo’s. The healers at the game were very capable. They could patch up almost anything. If she had been transferred to St Mungo’s without her even realizing it; her injury must have been bad. 

Her suspicions were confirmed only moments later. A bludger had connected with her shoulder and she had fallen from her broom. They hadn’t been able to slow her descent enough — though the little they had, had saved her life.

The healers came in and out of her room, tending to her injuries, discussing wound care and physical therapy options. Rolanda heard none of it, their voices were nothing more than a buzzing in her ears — radio static. All she wanted to know was when she could get back on the pitch and no one would give her an answer. 

It wasn’t until her agent, Hugh Callahan, entered the room and sat beside her bed, looking grave. It was then that she knew. Her injuries were too great. She would never play professionally again. 

****

17 March 1985

Her shoulder ached. They said it would for a few days, even with the pain relief potion. She was having trouble processing anything beyond getting dressed and going home. Callahan had mentioned something about coming round in the next few days to discuss her options, but she wasn’t hopeful. The extent of the injury meant that her shoulder was unlikely to ever regain its full range of motion. Even if she worked her arse off doing as much PT as possible and did regain full function, she would be too old for the professional leagues. 

Quidditch was her life. She had ridden a broom before she had properly learned to walk. She had been playing pee wee Quidditch since the age of five. What was she supposed to do now? She knew it would seem silly to most, but this had been everything to her. She felt as though she had lost a piece of herself and didn’t know if she would ever feel whole again.

Her world crumbled around her, but she had to get home. Mindful of the dull ache, she gingerly placed her cloak over her shoulders and made for the door only to find her way blocked by a man in violently purple robes.

“Ah, Ms Hooch. I am glad to have caught you before you left. May we sit?” he indicated to the chairs beside the bed she had just vacated.

Rolanda nodded, a bit dumbstruck, and stepped aside to allow the older wizard passage. “Aren’t you —?”

“Albus Dumbledore, yes.” He smiled as he took a seat, eyes twinkling. “I taught you in Transfiguration many years ago. However, I have held the position of Headmaster for quite some time.”

“Yes, I-I recall seeing that in the papers,” she stammered, taking a seat on the corner of the bed. 

The man smiled, a twinkle in his eye as he removed a small sweet packet from one of the pockets of his voluminous robes. “Sherbert Lemon?” he offered.

“Um, no thank you. I don’t really eat sweets.”

He shrugged and popped one into his mouth before pocketing the package. 

She recalled that the man was rather eccentric, however influential. If he had come to see her, it must truly be for something important. “I’m sorry sir, but is there something I can do for you?”

“No Ms Hooch. Rather, it is what I can do for you. I was saddened to hear about your injury. You were a magnificent player.”

Rolanda averted her eyes, shame and disappointment filling her. “Yes, sir. I was.”

“You will be looking for new employment, I suspect. Possibly coaching?”

She huffed, “In a few years maybe. All the teams have pretty solid coaches right now, and I wouldn’t stoop so low as to work for the Cannons.”

A small smile passed his lips. “No, I wouldn’t expect so.” As though a thought had just occurred to him, he cocked his head to the side and continued, “As you may have heard, Hogwarts is in need of a new flying instructor.”

This surprised her. “Cassius Dippet is retiring?”

“Yes, at the end of the current term. When I heard that one of England’s finest players would no longer be playing professionally, I thought I’d stop by and see if they were interested.”

“Sir, I may be a damned good flier, but if you recall my seventh year, I am not good with children.”

He suppressed a small laugh, “True, the first years you tutored were not fond of you, nor were you fond of them, but you taught them how to fly. Quite successfully, I might add. Maybe now that some time has passed, you would find instructing young minds in the art of flying to be quite enjoyable.”

Rolanda was hesitant. She had never related well to children. Hell, even as a child she found other children rather tedious. However, she fondly remembered the look on her niece’s face the first time she successfully flew a real broom on her own and the energy and excitement of children falling in love with the most magnificent game in the world. “Would I just be teaching flying?”

“Well, I have a request here from the Department of Magical Games and Sports for you to also take on refereeing the students’ Quidditch games, as well as offering extra training to those students who wish to pursue a career that requires flying. The department does, of course, require some testing and training, but with your background, I don’t see that being an issue. Does this sound like something you would be interested in?”

She had nothing else going for her. She had seen what happened to other players who had either retired or been injured and were no longer able to play. The former athlete would show up at different sporting events or store openings to help draw a crowd, sign a few autographs, and generally look like a sad washed-up piece of shit. It was likely to be years before a good coaching position opened up. She might as well at least consider it. What did she have to lose?

“I’d need to see the pitch and equipment…”

“Of course. Would you care to go now?”

“Now?”

“Do you have anything more pressing?”

What she really wanted was to soak in a hot bath and sleep for twelve hours, but the man was here and the possibility of a future holding something other than mediocrity intrigued her. She shrugged her good shoulder and beckoned for him to lead the way.

Dumbledore apparated them from the point outside the hospital onto a lush green field on the edge of Hogsmeade. The air was crisp and clean in the Scottish countryside. She was immediately bombarded with sense memories from her time as a student all those years ago. Inhaling deeply, she opened her eyes and felt a small weight lift from her chest. There was something here, something full of promise. She almost felt as though there was a string tied to her heart that pulled her gently forward towards the castle. 

They passed the short trek to the school in silence, the string attached to her heart pulling her ever closer.

Once on the grounds, the headmaster led her to the broom shed. It was a fairly small building, no bigger than her room at St Mungo’s. However, it was clear that it had been kept in good order, the walls appeared to have been white-washed within the last year and the equipment was put away neatly, though not in the way she would have done it. The brooms, while nowhere near what she was used to appeared to be in good repair if a bit on the older side.

Dumbledore’s voice tore her from her thoughts, “We currently have Comets and Clean Sweeps. There may be a few Shooting Stars in the back, but we had a donation a few years ago to update the school’s brooms. You would be welcome to organize the broom shed any way you like. Currently, Dippet keeps all of the Quidditch balls in his office; however, you could store them as you saw fit.”

“I would have an office?”

“Attached to your living quarters, yes. I have a packet detailing the full job description along with the compensation package. Once we complete the tour, we can go up to my office and review everything.”

She nodded, satisfied. “And the pitch?”

Dumbledore inclined his head in the direction of the pitch and they strolled over together.

“The hoops were replaced last year by Magical Games and Sports. While Hagrid and Mr Filch assist with maintaining the pitch, that largely falls under the responsibility of the Flying Instructor.”

“Mmm…” she hummed. Not much had changed from her time as a student. New equipment, yes, but it all felt so junior. She would have to do some research on the type of grass used on the pitch and possibly consult with the school’s herbology instructor to see if anything needed to be done to bring it closer to that of a professional standard.

Looking up towards the hoops a streak of movement caught her eye. Someone was flying rather quickly, practising dives. 

She checked her watch and gave a small smile. “It seems a bit early for a lone student to be out for a fly on a Sunday morning.”

A hint of sadness flashed in the man’s eyes as he raised a hand in greeting to the figure who was quickly making a descent. “That’s no student.”

Moments later, a statuesque, windswept woman gracefully landed and dismounted her broom. Her long dark hair which had once been tied into a tight knot on top of her head had mostly come loose and was spilling down around her shoulders. Rolanda could see several strands of grey beginning to prematurely streak the rich locks. The woman had a severe face, but her eyes though sharp revealed a quiet kindness and possibly a glint of mischief hidden behind layers of propriety. Rolanda was immediately taken by those eyes. However, she couldn’t help but notice a deep sadness, a grief within them, something she felt was reflected in her own. 

“Headmaster Dumbledore,” the woman acknowledged in a thick Scottish brogue. Those eyes flicked over to Rolanda and lingered on her form with some curiosity. 

She felt that string around her heart tightening, calling her to move forward toward this goddess before her. Suddenly, a timidity she had never known rose up within herself and kept her rooted to the spot where she stood. 

“Minerva, I didn’t expect to see you here today. You’re always welcome on the pitch, of course, but I thought you might wish to be home with family.”

The sadness flashed in her azure eyes again. “My nephews will be apparating into town this afternoon. All the arrangements have been made. I just couldn’t… I needed to clear my head and flying has always done a good job of it.”

“Of course. Stay as long as you like.”

Minerva nodded and looked over at Rolanda again, recognition crossing her face. “Aren’t you Rolanda Hooch? Chaser for Puddlemere United?”

“Oh, how rude of me,” Dumbledore said almost as though he had forgotten he had a guest in tow. “Minerva, as you have guessed, this is Rolanda Hooch, our potential new Flying Instructor. Rolanda, this is Minerva McGonagall, our Transfiguration professor.”

Rolanda smiled tentatively and extended her hand, “Pleasure.”

The woman, Minerva, reached out and grasped it in a firm shake, her smooth pale skin in perfect contrast to Rolanda’s own broom-roughened and tanned complexion. The contact was short, it couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, however, in that moment Rolanda swore that time stood still. The string around her heart squeezed infinitesimally and drew her eyes into those of the woman before her. It was like a spark in the kindling as something within her caught fire. The world could have shifted on its axis and the sky could have fallen, but in that moment the sadness, the grief of the last day ceased to exist and she knew. At that moment, she knew Minerva felt it too. What loss had befallen this strong, formidable, beautiful woman? What tore at her heart so acutely that the momentary relief of their touch instantly de-aged her five years? And if she stood here forever, holding this woman’s hand, could she ensure that this feeling would last? 

The moment didn’t last. It couldn’t, but as she withdrew her hand, Rolanda knew that something was there. Somehow, inexplicably, her life would be tied to Minerva McGonagall for the rest of her days.

Minerva blinked rapidly and smiled tentatively, the spell broken. Rolanda could see the sadness creeping back in, but she also saw something like curiosity growing in those captivating eyes. “The pleasure is all mine. I was sorry to hear about your injury. You played so beautifully.”

As a rule, Rolanda didn’t blush, but quite against her nature, she felt her face heat and allowed a small embarrassed smile to escape. “Thank you. Hogwarts’ gain though, I suppose.”

“Ah, so you will be joining us?” Dumbledore asked, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Her smile grew as a feeling of hope began to grow in her chest. “Yes, I believe I will.”

Minerva caught her eye again and nodded before her face fell again, remembering her sadness. “I look forward to working with you next term.” Her eyes roamed Rolanda’s frame; she looked as though she wanted to say more but couldn’t muster it. “Excuse me, I must get back.”

Without another word, Minerva shrunk her broom and placed it in her pocket before walking off towards Hogsmeade looking for all the world like the Roman goddess she was named for.

Dumbledore had turned toward the castle and beckoned her onward, presumably to discuss the finer details of the position.

Rolanda began to follow but couldn’t help turning back to look at Minerva’s retreating figure. They were both grieving something, but they both had felt hope in each other's gaze. That day may not have been the time or the place, but she knew — and she was sure Minerva knew too — that something had bound them together. Maybe, just maybe in the midst of all this grief, something beautiful would grow between the two of them.


End file.
